


Pilgrimage

by BloodQuest210



Series: Falling Into Your Gravity [3]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Can be read as one shot, Exploration, F/F, Falling In Love, Gen, Mentions of Death, POV Second Person, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Ten Years Later, Undecided Relationship(s), journeying, korvira, mentions of poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodQuest210/pseuds/BloodQuest210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korra embarks on a journey to a remote village and ponders on the choices she's made in life, and what to do next.</p><p>Sequel to <i>Hold.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilgrimage

**Author's Note:**

> _**Disclaimer:** The author of this fan fiction does not profit from this text and creative ideas established in the original work belong to the original creator(s). All trademarks and copyrights contained in this text are owned by their respective trademark and copyright holders. This text is not authorised or endorsed by the original creator(s) or any trademark and copyright holders. This text may be used for personal, private purposes. Copyright of this text and original ideas expressed in this text belong to their respective author(s)._

You’ve always been an adventurer and a dreamer. You’ve known this from a young age.

You knew this when at the tender age of four, the Order of the White Lotus came knocking at the door of the only place you ever knew as home and declared you the next Avatar.

Overnight taking a bath and learning to tie your own shoe laces seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

That next year brought many people in and out of your life. It was a tumultuous, exciting time. People from all different places, trudging through frozen tundra to come and see _you._

You asked questions, so many questions: _‘Who are you? Where are you from? Why do you talk like that? What’s that thing around your neck? How did you get here? Who’s that outside? Is that polar bear dog? Daddy, I want a polar bear dog to ride on too!’_

You were so eager to go forth into the world; your parents so eager for you to stay put.

After a year had passed, a decision was made for you to move. You did not know why, nor did such details matter to you. You were five and had no foresight to think on such things; bouncing on the balls of your feet, a bubble of energy. So ready to explore a world you were scarcely acquainted with.

The only two questions sprang to mind that day were: _“Will it be fun?”_ and _“Can mum and dad come too?”_

You remember your father looking down at you, a little apprehensive. You pattered up to him, all smiles and high-spirits. _“It’ll be awright,”_ you said, grasping his large hand in your own. _“I’ll look after you.”_

You remember how he smiled back at you, how your mother held you tight.

You know now while traversing the many peaks and pitfalls of the world with nothing but a rucksack slung over your shoulder and the crisp air of a new day in your lungs, life is not as simple as that. But you don’t see that as a reason not to aspire for it to be that way.

The morning has barely begun, light blinks blearily into existence on the horizon, filtering through the misty sky and casting deep shadows against the snow-patched rock ledge you travel along.

It’s been a long, slow trek but you’re nearing the peak. Soon you’ll be able to stand at the top and look down and see just how far you’ve come.

You live a life of an acquired taste.

Kissed the cold, unmoving lips certain death with a smile upon your face and lived to tell the tale.

Sometimes it’s kissed you back.

The air’s sharp up here, almost bitter. It’s rushes against your skin, about your booted feet. Weaves through your clothes. You’re at the one of the highest peaks in the Earth Nation region; or at least geographically speaking it is. Politically speaking, this island is a no man’s land, claimed by none.

Yet you know beyond this crag lays a settlement of less than a hundred people. You know because you’ve been here before, and the residents of this little enclave were just as shocked as you were on your discovery.

Unfortunately, they weren’t quite as thrilled and immediately attempted to kill you. You ducked and dived around frosty fir trees, easily dodging axes thrown at your head and spears at your heart, all the while shouting: “I’m Korra, the Avatar - whoa nice throw there, kid - it’s great to meet you!”

Following the initial misunderstanding, you were able to explain to the villagers who you were, how you could help. After nearly being beheaded again for witchcraft - they apparently had never heard of the Avatar - you finally managed to convince them you were friendly by using your bending to create firewood, catch fish and - quite to their astonishment - repair and weld their metal tools.

You were allowed to stay so long as you fix all their other equipment; that was more than fine with you.

It’s a small, poor, agricultural village, high-up in the middle of nowhere on a tiny remote island just off the coast of the Southern Air Temple. Somewhere between the Earth Nation and home.

There’s a group of many dotted, unexplored islands in this part of the world - possibly not visited by outsiders for decades, much less the Avatar.

So of course, you wanted to change that, and got back more than you bargained for.

Nearly there. Your feet hurt, but there’s a smile on your face. You’ve been coming here awhile now but are reluctant to tell anyone this village exists. You won’t tell them - not yet. Your secret place.

You grab hold of the last protruding rock on that crag with a gloved hand, haul yourself up over the other side of the steep slope. Cling on so you don’t slip. Take in the sight you’ve taken a whole day’s travel to reach.

Who would have thought behind that huge wall of rock atop of a mountain there would be a large, snow-covered forest plain with a deep lake that never froze over.

The wind’s less brutal with and buffer between you and it. In the clearer air you can see a sprawl of study, dark-wooden cabins with smoky chimneys; all huddled together in a distant clearing just before the large expanse of lake. It’s getting lighter now and you can see small yellow glows from the houses as the village awakes.

A sparse forest of fir trees begins half a mile below you. It divides you from your goal. You skid quickly and skilfully down the rest of the slope. Reshuffle your rucksack, gather your thoughts. March on.

You know to some this place would be a wasteland of illness and death - people don’t appear to live here long and it’s no wonder why. It’s becomes brutally cold in the winter, the wind howls through you. You don’t imagine there’s a lot of genetic diversity up here either, which is a problem all of its own.

At least they don’t eat each other here, or make sacrifices to a deity - you’ve been to places that have. You had to hotfoot it when they seemed to take a little too much interest in you.

You’ve seen amazing things too, wondrous things; eaten bizarre foods, worn richly-dyed clothes, taken part in rituals and festivals far outside anything you’ve ever experienced before. Learnt and taught bending you never thought you could do, or even existed.

Been inspired to see the world through another person’s eyes.

The stories you could tell! And have.

Feats of wonder and daring and - well occasionally poor judgement and bad timing, you’ll admit.

You’re free to travel to wherever your heart calls you. Or wherever people need help.

The cities although far from perfect, are mostly sufficient for the of their citizens now. Citizens are treated as coequally as they’re ever going to be in your lifetime.

Some inequalities will always remain; swayed by circumstances you cannot control. You’ve come to accept that.

Ba Sing Se still has its class system - likely always will - but the borders are softer now and mostly social constructs rather than physical ones. Poverty is less rife.

Still, there is only so much you can do. There are policies, influence, vested interests and money older than you at play.

You’ve learnt you cannot simply force the world to think, live and see things the way you do; you can only give it the tools to become greater than it is. It must choose to make the change for itself.

People, you’ve also discovered, work much the same way.

The cities no longer need their Avatar so long as they are not under threat. So you’ve turned to the smaller, less conventional places. Villages, towns, tribes, travellers of the land - there’s no bureaucracy, no red-tape to stop you helping out here.

It’s just you, the elements and a little a bit of luck; the only thing able to hold you back being your own resolve.

So to some it may be a waste, but to you any place someone calls home is worth saving. People, whoever might be, are worth saving.

You’ve arrived just outside the clearing and it’s beautiful. Although the people and the buildings are different, and the journey is much more treacherous, it reminds you of home.

A dull _thunk, thunk_ of people chopping wood fills the morning air. They stop and wave as you walk by, calling out your name. You wave back, feeling a buzz from having people around you again, but don’t stop. You have a special visit in mind.

You come to a cabin just out the main scope of houses nearest the lake - it’s by far the smallest, no warm glow emitting from the tiny windows, shutters clasped shut.

Treading through the dewy grass, you walk around a near-bare stock of firewood and gently push open the door. There are no locks here, only your own vigilance keeping the wanderers of the night at bay.

The room’s a small, cramped space; the damp smell of sickness fills the air like poison. To one side of the room a woman lays wrapped in an array of fur skins, hunched and shuddering and quietly fighting for breath. Next to her are two small children nestled closely by her side.

The little girl who you know is older but compared to her brother looks tiny, lifts her head and blinks into the stream of light coming from the doorway.

She sees you, gasps suddenly then covers her mouth. Glances at her mother who still fretfully sleeps.

“Korra!” the girl whispers and shakes her brother awake. “Wake up, wake up, Gal! It’s the witch lady, she’s come back!”

You smile widely and feel your heart swell as her brother looks up and almost leaps with excitement upon seeing you.

“Come outside,” you say softly. “I have something for you.”

They both eagerly get up and join you outside, already dressed because of the cold. As soon as you close the door behind them, the little girl squeals and throw her arms around you with such surprising force you nearly fall over.

You bend on one knee and grab both of them in a fierce embrace. The boy strokes your skin because he can’t believe how warm you are despite the weather. _“Witchcraft!”_ you remember telling them with a wink when they asked how you stayed so warm. Witch lady stuck ever since.

They’re both cold, so you hold them until they’re not any more.

Then the real business begins as interest moves to the bag on your back. You open it up and take out two well-made thick woollen coats. They’re both delighted and put them on, just a little too large for the girl on the shoulders and arms.

There’s a brown paper bag with as much medicine you could pack in the bottom too. You hand this to the boy who nods and takes in for his mother.

She’s dying, it’s obvious. There’s nothing you can do for her up here and taking her away or bringing up a doctor isn’t an option. The villagers won’t allow anyone except you to come and go as you please and she’d likely only die quicker on the journey down.

It hurts. You’re the most powerful person to walk the earth and yet even you can’t stop the inescapable realities of mortality. You can only wish the painkillers ease her passing.

You don’t know what will happen to the children once she’s gone and the villagers don’t seem very concerned for their welfare, but they both fear and are in awe of you so you hope that will work in your favour.

They’re also ridiculously superstitious, so threatening they’d be cursed for eternity if any harm came to these two would probably work. You’re considering it.

You spend the next several hours cutting and stocking firewood, catch fish and repair damage on their home caused by high winds and debris.

It’s taxing on you after your long trek, but nothing compared to what they must have to do every day; they both look exhausted, neither of them looking much older than ten.

They still want to help, though they spend most of their time looking in wonderment as you use your bending to create a stockpile of firewood the size of their house and enough fish to feed a small army.

By the afternoon you’re finished and in dire need of sleep. The boy notices your yawning and calls for his sister and they both come out with one of the many leather skin blankets. It’s a thin one from their bed.

Between the three of you, you set up a small picnic area by the lake. Fish roast over a fire on a spit and you lay quite contently on the blanket under the sun’s weak midday rays.

The boy pokes at the fire occasionally and disappears into the house once in a while and the little girl plaits and unplaits your hair or touches the slope of your nose or the arch of your eyebrows while you doze.

Her gentle, innocent curiosity reminds you of someone else you know.

“I’m going to go check on my mamma,” she tells you. You open your eyes briefly and give her a nod. She gives you a parting hug around the middle and scampers away into the house. You’re left alone to your thoughts.

Kuvira. Just thinking her name causes your heart to flutter faster and there’s a warmth at the core of your being that has nothing to do with your firebending abilities.

It’s in moments like these you desire her company the most.

You’re doing what you’ve always wanted to do, but you’re completely alone in it. As much as that’s given you plenty of space to follow your own path inhibited - and make some of the toughest decisions in your life - the feeling of isolation grips you and you long for someone else to share it with.

You love your friends dearly, and see them frequently from the times you pass through whichever city they currently reside in, but they can no longer go backpacking around the world with you on a whim.

They have careers to hold down; responsibilities to fulfil; even families to look after. Fatherhood has never looked as good as it does on Bolin.

You have some treasured pictures of ‘Uncle Mako’ in Chief of Police uniform awkwardly holding a babbling baby somewhere too. You swore blind you’d use them for blackmail one day.

And Asami. She’s a rising star of the most successful business of all time and has the world at her feet. You love her and dearly, but you are longer _in love_ with her and haven’t been for some time. She was just quicker and braver to realise that and address it than you were.

You’re such an idiot. You hope you didn’t hurt her too badly.

As the saying goes, you cannot choose who you fall in love with but like everything in life you’ve taken that to the logical extreme.

Falling for a convicted criminal wasn’t exactly in the plan you’d set out for yourself.

Well, you were never very good at sticking to plans.

You knew, at least on some level, something profound had occurred when you found yourself with your chest aching in the quiet hours of the night, longing for that spiritual connection you shared with Kuvira only hours earlier.

You should have stopped then. Called it a day; you had achieved what you set out to do. But your mind kept creating reasons to go back. Good reasons, sensible reasons.

At least on the surface the were.

Hindsight really is a wonderful thing.

Makes fools of us all in the end, doesn’t it?

So you kept going back. Kept inching further and further to the brink. Until you’re looking into the unknown and asking yourself: do you jump or do you stay put?

You think of how intense and unwavering her gaze was that day, almost daring you to spill all of your secrets.

You aren't one to shy away from a challenge.

You remember the kiss, the fall, the way she went still and then lax, before grasping your waist and kissing you back desperately in a way that made your head spin and ground fall away under you.

“Please don’t do this to yourself,” she murmured against your lips as she kissed you again and again. You could feel her pulse thundering under the palms of your hands, cupped tenderly around her neck.

Oh, and you’re so aware you’ve possibly _damned_ yourself to a life of hopeless yearning for something you can never have, the chances of her being released are slim, neigh impossible, but some stupid romantic part of you wants to _believe._

And some much more defiant and stubborn part of you is going make it happen no matter what.

But that’s what life is about for you: it’s about spreading your own version of noble deeds and righteousness regardless of who - or what - tries to stop you. Letting the chips fall where they may when someone else classes it as not worth the effort or interfering.

Life is about the adventure. Like all the faerie stories you ever read as a child, it’s about setting forth with a crew and a mission and not knowing the end of the story until you turn the last page.

Ships aren’t made to sit at harbour and you’re not going to sit around and wait for someone else to decide it’s safe to set sail.

You get up, new-found vigour coursing through your veins, ready to take on the world and anything it’s willing to throw at you. Say goodbye to the children and village you’ve grown so fond of and found an unusual sanctuary in your most lost hours.

Run through the trees up that tall crag like its nothing, though it seemed so much more difficult on the way up. Pull your airbending glider out of your rucksack, unfold it. Tie down your belongings against you.

You approach the edge, pulse thrumming now. You can hardly feel the cold. The wind whips against your back, pushing you forward. You take your glider in your dominant hand - you’ll need all the control you can get.

It’s reinforced with metal that you can manipulate with the wind; made sturdy for the strongest gales so it won’t rip to pieces. An old gift from Asami.

You look down. It’s a long, gaping drop and you won’t be able to see the bottom through the fog until you get there. Dangerous.

But the pay-off just might be worth the risk.

Sometimes you have to pick yourself up, throw caution to a wind and get back out there. You were made to the cruise ocean; to ride waves of life.

You have to take a leap of faith into the unknown in order to fly.

Besides, you think opening your glider up behind you and taking steps back from the very edge, readying yourself for a run; that _rush_ of anticipation filling your head.

You’re the Avatar. You weren’t just born to weather the storm.

You were born to defy it.

**Author's Note:**

> _ I believe anything is possible, I see opportunity when others see impossibility. I take risks. I’m focused. I hustle. I know that nothing is unrealistic. I feel overwhelming love, I embrace my childlike wonder and curiosity. I take flying leaps into the unknown, I contribute to something bigger than myself. _   
>  _ I create. I learn. I grow. I do. I believe it’s never too late to start living a dream. ~Unknown _


End file.
